Birds of a Feather
by Rosa Cotton
Summary: Gandalf and thirteen dwarves turned up at his round green door, revealing the old tales to be true. Jealous, ashamed, and sad over his lack of wings, it just seemed to be yet another confirmation that Bilbo Baggins did not belong with Thorin's Company. Movieverse, AU.


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Disclaimer: _The Hobbit_, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J. R. R. Tolkien's estate, and Warner Brothers, New Line Cinema, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, and WingNut Films.

Author's Note: Fill for a prompt on the hobbit-kink meme.

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Birds of a Feather

_What christening did my ancestors fail to attend, or what horrible gift did they offer which resulted in hobbits not having wings?_ Bilbo wondered, curled up in a little ball behind a tree just a little ways beyond the campsite. The whole company was presently grooming their wings, admiring and commenting on one another's, as was their usual custom. And after witnessing this ritual and being surrounded by fourteen pairs of wings for months, Bilbo feared he had reached his limit.

First there had been nothing but awe, realizing with delight the old tales were true when Gandalf turned up at his doorstep that long ago morning. Bilbo had struggled to not stare open-mouthed at the wizard's wide curvy shimmery grey wings (because, really, being both a wizard _and_ having wings, it simply was not fair!), only truly paying attention to him when he mentioned adventuring. Then the dwarves descended. Once disposing of their numerous weapons, they'd shed the loose tunics worn over their clothes, giving their wings free range to expand, flap, and shiver to their hearts' content. The hobbit's awe had not vanished even in light of the emptying of his pantry, Thorin's clear distain, and unpleasant thoughts regarding adventures and dragons. So many shapes, colors, patterns…_wings_.

Ori had pink spoonbill wings which grew lighter in color towards its tips. Dark rhinoceros hornbill wings were Bifur's. For Bofur small mockingbird wings, brown with a splash of white. Dwalin's huge grey blue shoebill wings reached nearly from wall to wall in the hobbit hole. Bombur had red flamingo wings. Nori's were black vulturine guinea fowl with white specks. Fili had grey falcon wings. Red cardinal wings for Kili. Dori's were the colorful pattern of a peacock's tail. For Gloin striped turkey wings. Balin's were large golden brown owl wings. Fiery yellow, orange, and red phoenix wings belonged to Oin. And Thorin's were brown eagle wings.

Awe had swiftly changed to shame and jealousy. Millions of questions and jokes had risen over the hobbit's lack of wings during the journey. This phenomenon was viewed with a mixture of puzzlement, pity, or indifference by the older dwarves, complete horror by the young lads, and as proof he was not what the company needed at all by Thorin. Often the hobbit ducked his head, his whole body burning, apologizing, and wishing the ground would swallow him up.

Being surrounded by so many magnificent wings reminded him of how he used to dream about having wings and being able to fly; requesting over and over to hear the tales of the races of Middle-Earth being gifted with wings when he'd been a little chap. An old longing reawakened, overflowed. Instead of thinking about his bed and books and armchair, Bilbo thought about wings. What kind of wings he may sprout had he been gifted with them: a toucan's, sparrow's, duck's, or a bluebird's? About how _amazing_ everyone's wings were. Silently wishing he had his own pair of wings. Secretly imagining he had each of his companions' wings, then feeling guilty for thinking such a thing. Wondering, _why not me, too? Why?_

Jealousy reared its ugly head even more loudly as time went on. Passing through villages, stopping at inns, Bilbo discovered humans had an assortment of pretty moth and butterfly wings. (The gawking, pointing, and whispering that had been directed at him had the Halfling wishing harder than ever for invisibility.) Rivendell had been torture. The beautiful elves had been graced with delicate transparent fairy wings that came straight from his childhood volume of fairy tales. It had been shocking to witness the cautious, curious exchanges between Thorin's Company and the elves, examining and remarking upon the other creatures' wings. Amongst such breathtaking beauty Bilbo felt terribly boring, plain, and lacking. And that was the point the sadness and depression roared in.

No wonder the dwarves (with just an exception or three) barely took notice of him. Truly, why did they need him on this quest, when he could do no good? Only a small fussy hobbit he was, no warrior, no burglar, and no wings. Even though in spite of everything he wished to belong with their company, to become a friend, be accepted. Despite their reserve, rough ways, and vulgarity, Bilbo secretly thought each of the dwarves was wonderful in his own way. Would they perhaps be a tiny bit more welcoming if at least he had wings of his own? Look at Thorin and Gandalf. Constantly butting heads and dancing round each other they were. Yet at the end of the day when tending to their wings, they managed to have the most polite discussions!

Good gracious, it turned out even _orcs_ were gifted with wings! Varying sizes, bat and gargoyle wings they had. The discovery had truly astounded the hobbit. While very ugly and dirty, the wings had almost caused Bilbo to burst into tears, not knowing whether to feel jealous, ashamed, or sad over the creatures' gift.

And now… Now, curled up in his little ball, there were just his silly unfulfilled desires, the dwarves' dashed expectations, and the impassable divide separating him from reaching them, and they from accepting him. Bilbo's throat burned as he swallowed hard. In the morning he shall leave them, head back to the Shire where being without wings was common. (Hopefully in time this ache for wings, for the dwarves' friendship will fade and be forgotten.) The company would do well continuing on, perhaps find a better burglar for their needs. It was for the best—

"Master Baggins?"

Hearing his name caused him to snap his head up in surprise and to gaze at the blurry figure of the dwarf standing before him. He frowned lightly, wondering why he was having trouble seeing clearly. Then he stiffened, realizing with horror his vision was blurry due to the tears streaming down his cheeks. A stifled sob rocked his body. Clumsily, frantically he brushed his hands over his face, blinking rapidly.

"Bilbo!"

Humiliated, the hobbit ducked his head, dodging out of the way of large hands reaching for him.

"_Bilbo_," Fili's voice was strained, worried. He succeeded in clapping his hands firmly on the hobbit's shoulders, careful not to use his full strength, stilling the little one's movements. Lowering his head, he failed at catching the Halfling's gaze.

"S-sorry. There's nothing to concern yourself with. I'm fine. Just…just," Bilbo floundered to come up with some explanation for the prince. He broke off when the tip of one of Fili's wings tickled his chin. "_Oh!_" he gasped. It was the first time he'd felt any of the company's wings before. He dared not breathe when the other wing floated forward and gently brushed away the lingering tears falling down his cheeks. The feathers were so soft, surprisingly warm, too.

He shut his eyes when the wing under his chin coaxed his head upward. He didn't want to see the blond-haired dwarf's expression.

"What's wrong, Bilbo? You've never been this upset, though I know you miss your home. Who is it? Has Bofur finally gone and pushed his foot too far down in his big fat mouth? Is it uncle?"

The growing anger in Fili's voice caused Bilbo's eyes to fly open and meet the dwarf's flashing ones. He was stunned. Many times he had seen the protectiveness and possessiveness Fili felt towards his brother and uncle, via a look to racing to their defense during a fight. And now his face was filled with both…for Bilbo! Gaping, the hobbit stared at the dwarf.

"_Who?_" the prince demanded after a brief pause.

Bilbo blinked. He did not understand this, but the question on the other hand… "It is just me," he replied, voice quiet and resigned. "I'm nothing."

"Nothing?" Fili released the hobbit's shoulders, brows drawing together in confusion. His wings quivered against Bilbo's face.

Once Bilbo started speaking, it was like a dam bursting, "I'm not much of a burglar. Nor of a warrior. Just a burden. Always in the way, holding things up, barely noticed at all. Except when I make a blunder, am reminded I am not part of the company.

"We-e-e hobbits are very fond of family and friends. It is not a hobbit's way to long and pine for friendship from a bunch of dwarves who hardly take any pleasure my company. Or be jealous of them – and seemingly every other creature in Middle-Earth – because they have such lovely wings, and I am so plain and boring!"

Sniffling, the hobbit held Fili's shocked gaze. In a trembling voice he asked, "Would you all be more accepting of me if I had wings like you?"

One moment he and the dwarf faced each other. The next thing he knew was being hugged tightly against Fili's chest, both of them wrapped in his wings which shivered in a protecting, comforting manner.

"You are _not_ a burden!" the dwarf proclaimed fiercely. "You have been doing well, adjusting to life on the trail. You help make the time pass cheerfully for us. Uncle is always gruff and scowling with both friend and foe. It is his way. Don't let him get to you. No matter what he says, you are part of the company."

"But you do not really like me," Bilbo objected, watching his fingers lightly running over the grey feathers, marveling at how they seemed to lean into his touch.

"Yes, we do! I like you. Balin took you under his wing from the very beginning. Bofur entertains you with songs and frightening stories. Ori piles you with questions about the Shire. You put up with Kili, and he likes you for it. Dwalin keeps an eye on you. And Gloin...," Fili went through the rest of their companions.

Bilbo listened with amazement and faint hope, recalling the instances as Fili brought them up. Perhaps it was true, that the dwarves did like him. And yet— The hobbit sighed wistfully.

His attention flitted between Fili and his wings. He tried to smile. "Still," he started.

"You are adorable just as you are, Bilbo! With your curls, smile, funny feet, and all," Fili said, hugging him closer, relieved as the small creature relaxed into him. His wings purred against them, making the hobbit giggle. The sound made the dwarf smile in turn. Seeing the hobbit in tears, so sad and insecure, was not something he wanted to experience again.

"If you ever become sad and disappointed at not having wings of your own again," he went on, "I shall take you for a ride on my back, and you will fly." He looked at Bilbo, the Halfling's green eyes dry, clear, and bright as they peered at him hopefully. Grinning now, Fili nuzzled his nose into those soft brown curls.

"You, Bilbo Baggins, are our _adorable_ burglar!"

THE END


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